✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠

𝐁𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧, 𝐆𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Judy Warner was far out of her depth. 

She'd never wanted to be a murderer. 

Then again, she supposed that most people didn't plan to be murderers. 

How many deaths in the world were caused by accidents? How many were caused by a series of actions piled together in a butterfly effect, resulting in the irreversible, no blame to be dealt?

The death of Joseph Getty was not an accident. Judy knew this better than anyone. She still saw the gun in her hand, taken from one of her guards, the barrel aimed at the back of his head before she'd pulled the trigger without a second thought.

Judy was very familiar with this scene. It haunted her, kept her awake as it replayed the way Getty's body fell forward onto the floor, his blood pooling from his head, her guards urging her to move as a rain of gunfire sounded in the distance, as if her treacherous act had facilitated a wave of death in her name, a butterfly effect of death. 

Last night, Judy Warner had only killed one man, only to leave feeling as though she'd killed a dozen. 

And yet, she'd never wanted to be a murderer. 

It was jarring to think that a single moment could change a person so much. 

Judy Warner used to be a person with morals. She'd always defended the victim, always stood on the right side of the law, always judging those who took matters into their own hands as if the law wasn't enough. 

Only, the law wasn't enough. All her life, Judy Warner had followed the law, only for the law to take what she loved most in the world. 

Judy Warner's son died on a Sunday morning. The date was marked February twenty-first, and, after five days of laying unconscious in a hospital bed, Oliver Warner took his last breath. 

Judy Warner's only son had died right in front of her, and she could do nothing to stop it. It had reminded her of the night her husband had died twenty years ago. After all that she had given, the world only continued to take and take and take, and the additional sight of her six-year-old grandson attached to beeping machines as they fought to keep him alive had been her breaking point. 

She couldn't lose anyone else. And, if there was one thing she could do for Oliver after his passing, it was to keep his son alive. 

The only thing that could ensure that sat fifty feet away from her across the room in a sealed, glass observing box, flanked by two men in padded, Kevlar suits. The time was 8:53pm, the silent auction scheduled to close at 9pm sharp. 

Warner had one of two options: break the law, or obey it. 

Technically she'd already broken the law by committing murder, but, oddly enough, her persecutors had saved her from scrutiny when they had stormed the Virginian Estate, the media assuming the death of Joseph Getty to be an unfortunate collateral of the unspecified terrorist group. 

Warner's contacts identified them as a subgroup of the Ten Rings. There was no doubt that they would also be making an appearance tonight, but that meant Warner had to make her move before they did. 

Obeying the law—following the rules and paying the hefty price for the implant as dictated by the auction—came with too many unknown complications. Warner had money, yes, but she had already spotted several foreign delegates with far more fame and recognition than she had, and she knew the likelihood of her winning that auction was slim. Furthermore, the whereabouts of the implant would paint her as a target if she did manage to buy it, as the winner would be announced publicly, and it would do her no good to be assassinated the moment she walked out the building. 

No. That didn't seem like the way to go.

It was now 8:55pm.

That is to say that stealing the implant wouldn't be any easier. Warner was far from a trained thief or soldier or any professional with the experience to stealthily obtain the implant without alerting the guards or making a huge commotion that would leave her efforts useless. Without a doubt, if she did decide to follow those men as they brought the showcased items into the backrooms, she would have to kill again. 

And, she would have to kill knowing that she might definitely be caught.

Her career would be ruined. Her name would be broadcast all over Europe, and the American media would be a merciless contributor to her capture. 

The Ten Rings would hunt her down.

But, her grandson Bobby Warner might live. 

It was 8:57pm.

Judy Warner might lose everything, but she might save the one last thing she couldn't live without. 

And that was at least better than having absolutely nothing. 

One of the men turned his head, speaking to someone through a device attached to his gear.

Judy could not lose no more. 

The man faced his partner with a nod. Together, they dislodged the pedestal from its position.



The law could not take any more from her.

One of the four wheels beneath the pedestal shifted, preparing itself for movement.

Judy Warner stood from her seat, her eyes trained on her target. The people around her no longer mattered as that implant became her center of focus, her one last hope in a fruitless world.

"Mrs. Judy Warner?"

Judy almost missed those words, as though her identity had changed in a split second, somehow unfamiliar. And yet, the voice seemed to cut through her, a siren song calling out to a lost soul jumping into a torrent sea, and Judy's eyes peeled away from her one last hope.

The woman next to her was stunning, so much so that Judy was caught by surprise by her presence. In a cruel world full of ego and hate and death stood a princess dressed in black, as though the trials of life were not a secret to her perfect beauty. Her eyes, which Judy squinted at because they appeared to be a dark violet, conveyed an understanding that made it seem as if she knew a great many things that Judy could not even comprehend.

The woman gave her a small, apologetic smile. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but, do you know if anyone is sitting here?" She gestured to the seat across from Judy. Despite not receiving a verbal response, the woman sat down gracefully, placing her champagne glass on the table. "As long as you don't mind, of course. I only hoped to take a moment to rest after so much socializing. Funny how many people show up to these events, isn't it?"

Once Judy Warner found her voice, having sat back down as she came to terms with this odd meeting, she managed to form a coherent question.

"Who are you?"

"Iris Chambers," the woman answered, though she didn't offer her hand like many of the other delegates here would. She simply sat with her hands clasped on her lap, her head tilted in greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Judy gave her a suspicious look.

"How did you know my name?"

"I know you," Iris said, watching the people around them. She took a small sip out of her glass. "I know your story, Judy Warner. I know that you never wanted to be a murderer."

And, like that, Judy was reminded of her purpose. Her heart stopped, frozen as she spun in her seat, breaking her neck to look and search and—

It was 9:01pm. 

The implant was not there. 

"Did you lose something?" Iris questioned, nonplussed by her actions. 

All Judy saw was red.

"Who the hell are you?! Are you with the Ten Rings? I can have you arrested—"

"If anyone is going to be arrested tonight, it's you," Iris pointed out. "So, I suggest you calm down before you do something I don't like."

Pursing her lips, Judy regained her composure, leaning back into her seat, albeit a little rigid as she talked to the strange woman before her. 

"Who are you?" she repeated. "And who do you work for?"

"I work for S.H.I.E.L.D.," Iris spoke with little explanation. 

Judy waited. Iris raised a brow at her. 

"Not good enough for you?"

"You still haven't answered my first question."

"I already gave you my name."

"I know S.H.I.E.L.D.," Judy said. "I know your lies."

Iris couldn't argue with that, considering she was indeed lying to the woman.

"The people here call me Tatasche," she offered. Then, she took another sip of her drink. "Why are you here, Judy Warner?"

"To steal the implant," Judy answered freely. Then, a second passed and she wondered what even possessed her to say that. 

"Do you know what the implant is capable of?"

"I know it can save my grandson," she replied stonily. "That's all that matters."

Iris studied the older woman closely.

"Joseph Getty was someone's son, too," she pointed out. "His mother was Ashley Getty, and she's sitting in a hospital in Maryland wondering when her son is coming back to visit—"

"You don't get to talk to me about losing a son," Judy griped. "My son was only in his thirties. They were coming over for the weekend. I'd been working so much, and it had been...far too long. I was so excited to spend time with my family, and then I got that call." Judy pressed a hand over her mouth as she tried to gain her bearings. Iris waited, sympathizing with her pain. 

When she was ready, she faced her again with a heavy breath, her hands clasped in front of her on the table.

"A mother should never outlive her children. Now, I might outlive my grandson." She shook her head adamantly. "It's not fair."

"Nothing is," Iris said. "Just how it's not fair that Joseph Getty died so your grandson could live."

"My grandson is six-years old. A child never deserves to die."

Iris could understand this. Children were an exception to many things, and the idea of a child dying was as wrong as the death of all that was good. If it came down to it, Iris would always put a child's life above her own. 

And, yet...

"That doesn't make what you did right," Iris replied. "Joseph was innocent. And, like you said, a mother should never outlive her child. You can't right a wrong with another wrong."

"Then what do you propose I do, Tatasche? Just sit and watch as the last of my family dies in front of my eyes? To watch my little boy take his last breath knowing that there was a chance and I didn't take it? Would you do nothing for the people you love?"

Iris pursed her lips.

"I'm not here to talk about me," she said. Because, the answer to that question would most certainly be a resounding no, but that wasn't what Judy needed to hear in the moment. "What if I told you that there was another way to save your grandson?"

Judy stared at her.

"I would ask you why should I trust you."

Iris gave her a small smile.

"Well, you've already told me all of your secrets," she pointed out. "Also, now that you've lost the implant, what other choice do you have?"

"I lost the implant because you intervened."

"That implant would only have caused you trouble. Your grandson would have been hunted for the rest of his life. That device should not belong to anyone."

"I would have protected him," Judy insisted. "I would have kept him safe—"

"Is that what happened the first time?" Iris questioned. Judy fumed in her seat, but did not respond. "You have one of two options: you either cooperate and I help you, or you don't and I turn you in. Only one of those scenarios will help you save your grandson, so I suggest you choose wisely."

Judy thought about this for a moment. Unfortunately, Iris had made plenty of irrefutable points.

What else did she have to lose?

"How do I save him?"

Iris leaned back in her seat.

"How good is your memory?"

Ten minutes later, Judy Warner left the gala, not as a thief with her stolen goods, but as a grandmother with one last hope in the palm of her hands. Iris Chambers watched as she slipped out through one of the side doors, shedding her pretense once she disappeared from view.

Warner's been dealt with, Truth transmitted. What's your status, Widow?

In the lower levels of the building, Natasha Romanoff sat in waiting, peering through the bars of the vent beneath her as two men walked by, rolling a pedestal through the hall in silence.

In position, she replied. I've got eyes on the implant.

She bided her time, letting security finish storing all the auctioned items until she was sure she wouldn't run into anyone. Silently, she removed the vent, placing it beside her in the airway before dropping onto the floor in a crouch, her right leg extended to maintain a quiet entrance with a hand in front of her to keep balance.

After a cursory glance, Natasha stood, relying on her hearing to alert her of any last-minute company as she counted her steps, following the mental path she'd created in her head according to the loud strides of the security men. 

She stopped in front of a door labeled as "Storage." By the handle was a keypad, waiting for a four-digit code. Studying it closer, Natasha deduced that four, five, eight, and six were the most pressed buttons, though the wear on the five seemed to be the most extreme. With that in mind, Natasha took a guess, tapping in an order beginning with five and ending in six. 

The door unlocked with a click. First time's a charm. 

Closing the door behind her, Natasha started the search between the rows of miscellaneous items, starting by the far end of the room as she peered through dozens of cases showcasing unique weaponry, newly engineered technology marking the advancements of the century, and ancient artifacts worth a fortune.

Natasha went through each and every one until she reached the other end of the room.

Then she looked through them again.

Talk to me, Natasha, Truth said once she finished speaking with a French delegate, sensing the redhead's growing confusion. 

Natasha made it back to where she started.

It's...not here, she realized. Turning in place, she looked around the tightly packed room. They must've put it somewhere else.

Give me a second, Truth replied. Keeping her eyes peeled on the guests, she mentally she searched through the building, hoping to find some clue as to where the implant had been placed or had last been seen.

According to the security guard's memories, they had indeed placed it in storage not five minutes ago.

Someone else must've gotten to it first. 

I think you have some company down there, Truth said. Whoever they are, they couldn't have gone far.

Natasha was already on the move, garrote in hand as she advanced further down the hall, her sole focus on her new target.

I'll handle it.

Bradley (Brad) Hunt considered himself to be a rather exceptional thief, if he said so himself. 

Coming from a lowly family with no amount of wealth or power to its name, it was a sight to see him now, strolling through a German estate with a fortune in his pocket. 

It had been hilariously easy. All it took was a proper disguise—albeit a little uncomfortable because Brad was sweating bullets (pat on the back for the pun) in the standard German police uniform—and some good timing on his part after the silent auction had closed. What had been made out to be a dangerous op with little chance of success had turned out to be a simple hit-and-run. Brad strut happily down the hall, ego blossoming as he planned what he would do with the rest of his lavish night.

Maybe he should try his hand at gambling. Clearly his luck was off the charts, and it would be a shame to waste an ounce of it.

Now, the only problem was finding a way out. 

"Fuck," Brad cursed when he found himself at his second dead-end. How the fuck a basement just randomly had dead-ends like some twisted maze was beyond his comprehension, but he was ready to carve out his own exit if he didn't make it out soon.

He spent almost a good five minutes in front of one of those emergency exit maps on the walls, trying to figure out where the hell he was in terms of where he actually wanted to be and he felt as though he was losing his goddamn mind.

"I'm sorry," he said to no one but himself as he gestured to the emergency guide, "but how the fuck am I supposed to find the fucking stairs if I don't know where the fuck I am? Like, okay, the stairs are in the 'Westflügel'. Where the fuck is the Westflügel? What even is that? I can't even read fucking German."

The urge to punch the thing was so strong that Brad had to sit down for a moment and rethink about life.

"Lost?"

Clutching his chest, Brad spun so fast he gave himself whiplash. 

He could've sworn that the hottest woman he'd ever seen just materialized right in front of him, and he concluded that maybe his luck was out of bounds today.

The dark-haired woman stood at the other end of the hall, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall, the beginnings of a teasing smirk on her face. Her curves were full, cupped by her bodysuit, her cleavage a distracting sight.

Getting to his feet quickly, brushing off the invisible specks of dust on his borrowed uniform, he cleared his throat.

"Uh, no, actually..." He gestured to the guide on the wall. "I was just—"

Wordlessly, the woman pushed off the wall, walking closer before coming to a stop next to Brad, facing the emergency guide.

"This," she said, leaning forward to point to the Westflügel label, "is the West Wing." After a glance back to make sure he was paying attention, smirking when she found his eyes on her ass, she moved her finger to another dot that was labeled in German. "We are here."

"So, you're telling me," Brad started, taking a step closer to put him just behind her, leaving a very thin space between them, "that this," with a corresponding point, his arm by her head, "is where we are right now? And this is where we need to go?"

The woman straightened and turned, finding Brad's face two inches away. Unfazed, she stared back up at him.

"Who said I was going with you?" she asked.

Brad stepped impossibly closer, and her hand grabbed onto the folds of his jacket to keep balance. 

"Who said you weren't?" he countered.

She stood on the tips of her toes, her breath caressing his lips, though left untouched. Brad leaned closer, only for her to lean back with an amused smile. 

"You have a habit of repeating things, don't you?" she joked.

Brad chuckled, though he was far from comprehending her words now. He continued to chase, and, when her other hand reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, he thought he'd finally caught it.

The woman gripped his hair, bringing his head closer.

"Thank you," Natasha whispered, and just as Brad was about to ask why, she added with a smile, "for your cooperation."

Brad didn't get to have another thought. All he had was a split second of confusion, followed by a punch to the face that had him stumbling back in surprise and a kick that knocked him to the ground, unconscious. 

With a grimace, Natasha wiped her mouth with a gloved hand, still feeling the feathery feeling of his desperate lust on her lips. With the other, she opened her closed fist, revealing the small, four inch device in her hand.

So minuscule, yet so important.

I've got the implant, Natasha relayed. She waited a few seconds, and when she received no response, she frowned. With a hand, she activated her comms, which they'd designated for emergencies. 

"Siren?" she called.

Truth had managed to keep her tabs on Natasha for a while as she hunted Brad down, multitasking while holding several conversations with famous delegates and ambassadors, many eager to figure out just who this mysterious woman was and her purposes for attending the gala. To say that she had successfully met her goal of being a distraction at the event was an understatement—Iris Chambers happened to be one of the hottest topics of the night.

By then, it had only been a matter of time before her presence started to cause trouble. Truth had noticed a shift in the thoughts around her as she spoke with Ambassador Edgardo Persico about the unfortunate death of one of his colleagues and the current disasters wreaking through Italy that the world didn't seem to care about. Truth had listened politely, rather used to people dumping their thoughts onto her, as she did a casual sweep of the room.

Only, her focus waned once she met a pair of sharp, unnatural eyes across the ballroom, the warning gaze of a predator ready to defend its territory from trespassers.

If there was any doubt that this event was indeed hosted by Alec Keil, it was no longer present. He may not have been there in person but, just as she had suspected, someone else had attended in his place.

The tension in the air between them went unnoticed by the guests. They were reduced to simple prey in the moment, unaware of the power that walked among them. 

Truth held the other woman's stare. They knew what the other was, yet neither would advance in a room of too many eyes. 

A moment later, the woman exited the ballroom, disappearing down a dark hall.

Minutes later, once she managed to excuse herself, Truth followed.

The darkness shrouded her in unnatural silence, a stark difference to the gathering featuring lit chandeliers, bustling with electricity.

Before her eyes could adjust, the darkness moved swiftly, like the sharp strike of a snake delivering a fatal blow.

Only, her blow never landed. Truth deflected, like the warning roar of a lion, pinning her opponent to the wall.

The other woman laughed.

"So, you've been practicing?" she said as Truth stalked closer. 

"Minerva," she greeted, taking the time to study her. She looked good—hair straightened, her dark green dress a compliment to her dark skin, adorned with layers of rings and bracelets and piercings, a testament to the power she possessed. Truth sensed a total of four knives on her person, though those weren't her only weapons.

Truth was starting to regret wearing her own jewelry tonight, accounting a total of five bracelets, several rings, and a couple of chains resting along her collarbone. It seemed that, depending on what this meeting may result in, Minerva was carrying a slight advantage.

Not bothering to acknowledge the comment, Truth released her, meeting the deep yellow of her eyes, her expression one of full seriousness.

"I'm not here to cause any trouble," she said.

Cracking her neck, testing her mobility as though Truth's show of a truce was too good to be true, the other enhanced humored her.

"Then, why are you here?"

"Some things," Truth replied, "should not be for public consumption."

"The implant," Minerva summed. Truth raised a brow, curious to know how she knew, and yet she continued. "You know, it's mostly a hoax, right? It doesn't even work. Cybertek needs the money, and so they make something big to get them some attention."

"That doesn't mean it couldn't work," Truth countered. "Once an idea is put out there, it only takes one curious mind to wonder about the possibilities." She paused, taking the time to look at the scars that littered the other woman's skin, marking every experiment, every greedy attempt at making the perfect weapon. "How do you think Keil started designing people like you?"

It was a low-blow to be reminded of your status as a test experiment, of how you had been used and modified until you were a mere shadow of your former self, forged into something more, something destined for greatness.

But, it wasn't like Truth was any exception. Of course, the difference between her making and Keil's test subjects was that much of her "modifications" had occurred prior to her birth.

People like Minerva? They remembered that pain and lived with it. Not many were lucky enough to have a choice in that.

"If it's only a hoax," Truth continued, "why have it here? What does he want with it?"

"What makes you think he needs it?" she questioned instead of answering.

"Keil doesn't do anything unless it benefits him," she answered. Though, as she opened her mouth to voice another question, the necklaces across her collarbone shifted ever so slightly.

"For every question you ask, you lose your air," Minerva threatened, well aware of her abilities. "But, please, continue."

Truth didn't doubt her word. And, while her telekinesis gave her a chance to protect herself, she knew Minerva's ability to manipulate metal was a bit stronger. 

She tried another tactic.

"The Ten Rings will be here any minute," she said. "They'll storm this building like they did in D.C., killing all of Keil's precious little followers. They'll stop at nothing to get the implant."

"Their guns are useless," Minerva said, giving credit to her words by removing Truth's gun from its holster without ever moving, the weapon unloading itself, the bullets dropping to the floor like bodies. "An army won't get past me."

"I never said they would," Truth replied. "It's not about if you could do it. You could kill an army. You'd spill a fountain of blood doing it," she added with a shrug, "but you could. You could kill me right now if you tried hard enough. And, yet, I don't think you would."

The chain moved tighter around her neck, though she used her telekinesis to keep it from constricting her just yet, her brows furrowed as she concentrated. Minerva stepped closer to her, and Truth did not move a muscle.

"What makes you say that, Siren?"

"You forget that I know you as much as you know yourself," Truth said. "Every death is another stain on your hands. I've seen your work. Out of all of Keil's puppets, you only kill as necessary. You have heart—"

Suddenly, the chain pulled, and, like magnets, Truth's jewelry pinned her to the opposite wall, her hands restrained by her bracelets, the chains cutting into her skin despite her efforts.

Gritting her teeth as she fought Minerva's hold, Truth cursed her mentally.

"I didn't ask you anything," she managed to say.

Minerva stepped closer, careful not to touch as Truth's skin grew unsettled, her inducement coming to the surface in her distress.

"I know your tricks, little one. I'm not here to be tested."

Truth gave a strangled laugh.

"You mistake me for my brother," she said. "He's the liar."

"And you, 'goddess of truth'," she mocked, "are the manipulator. Your powers compliment each other. I saw how you talked to that woman. I'm sure you said everything she wanted to hear, and she listened because—"

"Siren?" came Natasha's voice in Truth's ear.

Truth held back another curse. It was enough to make her lose her concentration, and the chain closed tighter around her neck.

Minerva raised a brow.

"Who's this?" she questioned. "Certainly not your brother. I thought HYDRA's twins only worked alone."

Truth couldn't respond. The device in her ear turned on, untouched, with a silent click, and all she wanted to do was shout to Natasha, to warn her, but if she did, she knew any control she had over the chain around her neck would be broken.

"Truth," Natasha called. "Do you copy?"

"Your 'Truth' can't come to the phone right now," Minerva answered, and Truth never wanted to slap the absolute shit out of someone more. "Tell me, are you under the Siren's spell? How much of what you do is of your own will?"

Natasha frowned at the unfamiliar voice. Stepping back from the closet she'd locked Brad's unconscious body in, her feet moved, finding the fastest route to the main floor where Truth was.

"I stayed up past my bedtime last night, if that's what you mean," she answered the unknown woman, her voice confident despite the rising concern of hearing nothing from Truth, her stride moving faster with every what if she could come up with. "Might I ask who I'm speaking to right now?"

Minerva smiled, watching the anger settle in on the other woman's face, her eyes hard with fury.



"Just an old friend," she answered. For her own amusement, she loosened the chain enough for Truth to speak again. 

"You're playing a game you're not going to win," she warned, and Natasha almost sighed in relief, her heart beating swiftly in her chest. 

"Oh, I think I'm winning, sweetheart."

Truth snorted.

"I don't need to breathe to snap your neck."

"What was it you were going on about earlier? Something about having a heart? Where's yours?"

Natasha came to a sudden stop behind a corner, the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. By her count of a dozen, she concluded the last few guests had just arrived. 

Truth felt them too, and so did Minerva, who looked away from her.

"Your army is here," Truth said, staring at her intently, unfazed as her bracelets dug deeper into her wrists. "Who are you going to kill?"

The soldiers entered the building like a storm taking over the city, their guns an extension of their apathy for life. They huddled together, forming a plan, agreeing to split up to cover more ground when something rolled down the empty hall, coming to a stop at their feet.

A second passed, and the device let out a bright light, blinding the men in their suits. The Widow rushed out, leaping onto the shoulders of her first victim, her garrote around his neck, cutting off his airflow. She twisted, kicking at another soldier in her descent, landing on her knees as they dropped to the ground behind her.

Using her garrote to disarm another soldier, taking his gun and kneeing his crotch followed by an elbow to the face, she turned and fired in quick succession, three more men down.

By the time they overcame the initial shock, the Black Widow had already taken down half their numbers. Now, they opened fire on her, and she slid across the floor, tripping a man and sending him crashing to the ground in his gear, and she used him as a shield, his vest his only savior. 

Their shots slowed when they realized their mistake, and the Widow hurtled over her makeshift barricade, her baton extending to full length in her hand as she spun, disarming two and dropping the other.

She fought like a leopard, her punches and kicks resembling the sharpness of her claws, her thighs a symbol of her strength, her baton carrying the power of her bite.

And, as she incapacitated another pair, their unconscious bodies joining that of the rest of her reign, she looked up to the last of the Ten Rings, their guns aimed at her, and she pulled out a knife, intending to take one out before they got a shot at her. 

Then, something wrapped around the arm of one the soldiers, his gun stolen from his grip as he spun, falling face first on the knee of the lioness as she shot the other with his gun. 

Then, before anyone else could move, she raised her arm again, shooting somewhere behind Natasha. The redhead turned just as one of her prior victims fell to the floor for the second time, his gun falling out of his hand. 

For a moment they stared at each other, their heightened breathing the only sound in the hall. They searched each other with their eyes, Truth nodding in satisfaction when she found no injuries on Natasha while Natasha stared at her neck, the red lines standing out on her skin. She had ripped the train on her dress, wrapped around her hand like a rope in her choice of wielding. Somehow, not a single hair was out of place, looking as perfect as she had been at the hotel.

Natasha was once again overtaken by her beauty, even more so in battle.

It was the first time they'd ever fought together, even if for only a few seconds. 

Truth dropped her stolen gun on the ground, breaking the silence.

"You have the implant?" she asked. Natasha nodded, her brows furrowed at the slight raspiness in the other woman's voice. Truth nodded in response, attempting to clear her throat, though it didn't help much. "Good."

Well. That was one thing they could cross off the list. 

"I think it's time for us to leave," Truth summed.

Natasha couldn't agree more.

✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠

Sorry for the late update! But, good news, I'm officially done with finals, so hopefully I can update a bit more often and wrap up Act I.

Thank you so much for reading! xoxo